


Second-Best, Better Than Nothing

by MadameReveuse



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Backstory, Behind the Scenes, Canon Compliant, Claire gets to punch Don Paolo for incel crimes, Crack Treated Seriously, Flashbacks, Gressenheller science squad, If Paulmitri is the only thing I add to this space then so be it, Me gesturing at Paul: make it make sense, Multi, Pairing the Spares, Unwound Future, Villain PoV, clownery, unrequited crushes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:00:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28889502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadameReveuse/pseuds/MadameReveuse
Summary: How and why did Don Paolo appear in "Future" London? What went on between Dimitri and Claire behind the scenes? Did Claire's two spare suitors ever think to just bond with each other instead? Here's the fic that tries to answer it all.Retelling of Unwound/Lost Future from the POV of some of its villain characters. You sort of have to make room in your heart for Don Paolo to like this one; he's here a LOT.
Relationships: Claire & Don Paolo, Claire/Hershel Layton, Dimitri Allen & Claire, Dimitri Allen & Don Paolo
Comments: 5
Kudos: 9





	Second-Best, Better Than Nothing

**Author's Note:**

> I showed you my Don Paolo fic please clap
> 
> Lately I've been obsessed with making this guy's backstory suck less. Also the realities of grad school just have made me realize that people freak out and become supervillains sometimes. That's just what academia does to a mfer. Throughout all this, I've tried not to forget that Paul is a deeply ridiculous character, so I hope that still comes through. Does this fic also imply that he and Dimitri fucked? Yes. Also Claire is here as the only person with any sense in this wild caper.
> 
> Also when I read the whole "society of scholars" thing I wondered what that was about, and then thought, "Eh, that absolute clown just got kicked out of his study group"
> 
> The real UF-sequel was them overthrowing the government tbh
> 
> You can find me on tumblr @weepylucifer where I have more Layton hottakes, some of them even funny.

“We have concocted this whole grand illusion of a London ten years in the future,” Dimitri said, steepling his fingers. “And you think it’s still not enough?”

“The good Professor is an intelligent man,” Clive replied, pacing in Dimitri’s office in a way Dimitri found lightly disquieting for some reason that eluded him at present. Plotting and scheming seemed to come a lot more natural to Clive than to him. He was lucky to have him and his nigh-bottomless bank account. “And he’s no stranger to grand illusions. He will not be easily fooled. He’ll approach the whole set-up with inherent suspicion. We need to dispel his every doubt as soon as he sets foot in here.”

“You’re already pretending to be his grown-up apprentice,” Dimitri said.

“Exactly,” Clive replied. “If he becomes suspicious of _me_ , the whole house of cards comes crashing down. We need something else that cannot immediately be traced back to me. What would most strongly convince someone they’re in the future?”

“Well, seeing familiar places transformed by time, obviously,” Dimitri said. For a moment, he thought of Claire. Claire who had appeared out of thin air not too long ago, Claire whose body was already beginning to buckle under the strain of needing to return to her native time. The time of the accident. (Something kept him from telling Clive.) Claire reacting to the sight of him, his face lined with care and approaching middle age… “People, too, I suppose.”

“People? That’s it!” Clive snapped his fingers. “What if the Professor were to encounter a dear friend of his, significantly aged? That might just shock him enough to throw him off our scent.”

“But that’s impossible,” Dimitri said tiredly. “We’re not, as a matter of fact, _in_ the future.”

“We would certainly need a very skilled actor for such a job,” Clive mused. “Some very elaborate disguise.”

Dimitri shook his head, almost inclined to brush the whole thing off as one of Clive’s stranger ideas. An elaborate disguise? Really? How would that even work?

But the thought made something ping in some far recess of his brain. A very old, dusty memory was shuffled out of an equally old, dusty folder.

“I… could call a guy I went to uni with,” he said.

Clive stopped pacing and swiveled on his heel to face Dimitri sitting at his desk.

“Are you taking this seriously?” Clive asked.

* * *

The nature of a secret lair – a secret lair that was mostly workshop and laboratory space with some utilities crammed in a corner – necessarily required no one knowing of it. That was what ‘secret’ meant. No one was supposed to know where its inhabitant lived. No one sent letters to a secret lair – there was a PO box with a fake name on it in a town an hour away that he checked maybe once a month to fetch a few magazines with titles like Technical Engineering Monthly. So when one morning there was a letter shoved in under the front door, Paul reckoned this was trouble. It was also addressed to his full real name, which increased the trouble, since he was reasonably sure that no one lived now who was supposed to know that anymore.

He picked it up carefully in a gloved hand and took it to the lab, and opened it only once he’d ensured it wouldn’t blow up in his face.

> _We would like to recruit you on a venture,_ the letter said without preamble.
> 
> _Discretion is required. Money no object. Call the number below if interested._
> 
> _-D. A._

Well, it was short and to the point. Don Paolo wasn’t usually ‘recruited’, and he had no idea what to do with the initials ‘D. A.’, but there was a definite lure to ‘money no object’. It wasn’t as though he could file an evil grant proposal somewhere, and his inventions needed financing somehow, and all these latex masks were a running expense. He dusted off his ancient Bakelite phone – not sure why he even had the thing – and dialed.

Someone answered after the third ring. “Yes?” a voice said. It was the kind of voice that expressed, in one short word, that the person speaking had a lot on their plate and needed you to make it quick.

“I got a letter here, something about a _venture_.”

The voice sounded changed now when it asked, “Paul, is it you?”

Huh. He had no idea where to put this voice that seemed to know him by his actual name. It was familiar, vaguely, in a way of something he’d heard years ago. “Who the hell is this?”

“It’s… Dimitri. Allen. Dimitri Allen. Um. From uni?”

Oh.

The wanker.

Paul was tempted to hang up right then, to show Dimitri Allen from uni exactly what he thought of him. Ten years, and now the bastard had apparently just managed to find his lair somehow. Curiosity stayed his hand. “What do you want?”

Wherever he was on the other end of the line, Dimitri took a deep breath. “Well, I’m… look. Are you still on that revenge quest against Hershel?”

And now Layton was mixed up in it too? “Yes.” Strange, it sounded kind of pathetic when put like that.

“Good! Great. I think we can help each other here.” Dimitri cleared his throat. “I hear you’ve attained quite the reputation for skillful impersonations. I hear you fooled Hershel twice already.”

“Sure.” He’d ended up being unmasked both times, but Dimitri didn’t have to know that right now.

“Would you be willing to do it a third time? It would be amazingly helpful to my… current project. And, for you, another chance to get back at Hershel, of course.”

Well, this was all pretty vague so far. “I don’t work for others,” Paul said. “And I don’t work for free.”

“Oh, certainly. I am willing to reimburse you for your efforts.” Dimitri named a sum that made Paul almost drop the phone.

He sucked in a breath. “Risk?”

“I… don’t think there should be any great risks involved.”

“Then this must be quite the job, if you’re willing to spend that much money on it.”

“We would be purchasing your _discretion_ ,” Dimitri replied.

“Ah. That kind of a deal.”

* * *

Dimitri gave him the address of a clock shop in Baldwin to meet him at, not the fanciest spot for launching a scheme, in Paul’s opinion. He ended up being very surprised.

The underground city was a technical marvel. Not just that they’d managed to pull up all these houses and made them look just enough like the original to be recognizable, or that they’d somehow gotten thriving plant life down here, or that they’d managed to replicate the Thames. The most astonishing sight were the streets teeming with people. All of them actors? Or innocent civilians lured down here under false pretenses? Either way, a tremendous effort had to have gone into all this.

Dimitri was waiting in a restaurant by the river. He sat at the bar, and got up when Paul entered. For a moment, they silently sized each other up, attempting to take each other’s measure, maybe making comparisons to half-forgotten memories from more than ten years ago.

Paul didn’t care to know what Dimitri saw or thought. For his part, he registered the hat, the white coat, the longer hair, the rose in the buttonhole and the attempt at a goatee, and it registered as villain getup. He’d had no idea what Dimitri had done with himself after university, (after the accident) but _villain_ would not have been his first guess. (Dimitri hadn’t been like him in that respect. With Paul himself, everyone had probably seen that coming back then.)

Now Dimitri offered him a hand. “Paul. Or rather, I hear it’s ‘Don Paolo’ now.”

“Dimitri.” Secondary impressions were beginning to filter in. The sallow skin stretched tight over pronounced cheekbones, the almost bruise-like shadows under his hollow eyes. Here was a man who didn’t eat or sleep a lot. “You look like you’ve been through hell.”

“You look like someone I met there.” Zing. Dimitri seemed to decide there was no further need for verbal sparring. “I’m glad you could make it. Please, do have a seat.”

Dimitri gestured towards a table. Just as they sat, the door opened again. A young man entered.

“Ah, splendid,” said Dimitri. “Paul, this is my associate Clive. Clive, come and meet Don Paolo.”

Clive strode over and pulled up a chair with the air of someone who owns the place. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He turned to Dimitri. “But will this work? Is the Professor not already familiar with his methods?”

Dimitri shrugged. “But what reason has he to expect them here? Besides, Paul’s the best in the business since that Descole chap disappeared.”

Paul nodded in acceptance of this… well, not so much compliment as simple fact. His whole method of concealment had been partially inspired by studying the works of the mysterious Descole. It was one of his dreams to shake the man’s hand one day.

“Right,” he said. “So the gig is just this: you need me to go talk to Layton and convince him that he’s… what was it again?”

“Ten years in the future,” Dimitri explained helpfully.

“I can do that.” Paul already had a few ideas for impersonations he could workshop. “I might need a few props.”

Dimitri nodded. “Consider them provided. You can set up anywhere you like.”

“Great. Just one more question.”

“We can’t guarantee a satisfactory answer,” Clive said.

Dimitri shot him a vaguely peeved look. “Proceed.”

“Why?” Paul asked. “What’s this all for? Why build this gigantic set? Ten years in the future? What’s the use of that?”

Dimitri opened his mouth to reply, but Clive cut him off with an elegant wave of his hand. “That, I’m afraid, we’re not at leisure to disclose at this time.”

“Really? You pull up a whole city underground and you aren’t even going to explain it?”

“What we are doing,” Clive said smoothly, “is paying you a considerable sum of money for a day’s work and your discretion. Dimitri, you did explain to him about discretion, didn’t you?”

“So that’s how it is.” _Prick_. For a moment, Paul imagined himself shoving Clive into the fake Thames.

Maybe sensing the tension with Clive, Dimitri got up, gestured at the stairs that apparently led up to a terrace, and offered Paul a smoke – “You do still smoke, I assume – five packs a day by the sound of you?”

Paul didn’t find that funny – Don Paolo rarely put up with being teased – but he followed Dimitri nonetheless. They got up onto the balcony, lit up and leaned against the railing side by side, enjoying the view of the river and the industrial area beyond. Objectively a worse view than the real thing aboveground, with the “sky” enveloped in smog and the river a shade darker with industrial pollution.

“I apologize for Clive,” Dimitri said. “He’s young and very eager. It’s commendable, but it occasionally renders him abrasive.”

“Eh.” Paul shrugged his shoulders. Usually he had the market cornered on abrasive. And the way Dimitri said ‘he’s young’… it made him sound a thousand years old.

“So,” Dimitri continued. “I hear you’ve gotten up to all sorts of things over the last decade.”

“I’ve been making my contributions to the scientific community, if I do say so myself.”

“Heard you got yourself kicked out of the Society, too.”

Paul chanced a sidelong look at Dimitri and saw the bastard was smirking. “Bah, the Society of Scholars. You show them a few little gadgets you’re planning on constructing, and they go all ‘that’s illegal’ ‘you can’t do that’. Bunch of naysayers.”

Dimitri stifled a grin behind his hand. “If you say so,” he said. “Well, I see you… certainly ended up doing what you always told us you’d do. One has to respect that.”

Paul busied himself with his cigar to conceal the fact that he didn’t know how to handle respect. “Hmm.”

“But really, the name? _Don Paolo?”_ Dimitri chuckled.

“What’s wrong with Don Paolo?”

“Where to begin,” Dimitri said dryly.

“So what have you been up to?” Paul asked, more or less to steer away from any and all discussions of his chosen name, but also because, standing here in this fake city of Dimitri’s making, he found he really wanted to know.

Dimitri grew serious once more. “I have been… well, I have been doing… this.” He gestured at the city in general. “I have attempted to… continue my research, but obviously the circumstances have been… altered.”

His research, huh?

“Since the accident, you mean?” Paul asked.

For a moment, Dimitri looked stricken. His lips twitched, as if preparing to form words. His hands gripped the railing tight.

 _Misha_ , Paul suddenly thought. That was another dusty memory. Dimitri’s mother came from Russia, and had nicknamed him _Misha_ , apparently a derivative of his name. Sometime in uni, someone had started up some conversation on childhood pet names, and it had come up then.

_“My parents still call me Claire-bear. Ridiculous, right? But kind of cute too. What about you boys?”_

_“Just ‘Junior’, I guess. I’m named for my pops, so technically I’m Paul the Second.”_

_“Well, that’s boring. Dimitri?”_

_“Don’t laugh now. My ma calls me Misha. Listen, she’s Russian, and— Claire, I said don’t laugh!”_

_I’m not laughing! It’s adorable! Aah—put that pillow down!”_

Misha. He didn’t say it. This man right here looked leagues away from Misha.

“I think you should go,” Dimitri said then. “You’ll have a job to prepare for.”

* * *

The deception went off smoothly enough. Paul had never been close to Doctor Schrader in the way that Layton was – he’d taken one of the man’s classes once out of a sort of cursory interest – but he reckoned he remembered enough of Schrader’s mannerisms to impersonate him convincingly. The fake car, artfully busted up, was another master stroke. Layton and that nosy kid that called himself his apprentice seemed to swallow it alright.

He could now return to Dimitri, cash out and be gone, but he didn’t. Talking to Layton, all the while he’d been wondering what he was doing this for, and he suspected it wouldn’t leave him alone until he knew. Besides, seeing Dimitri again was beginning to bring back old memories, things he hadn’t thought about for years.

He remembered Dimitri had been one or two semesters above him at university. Earlier that fateful year, he’d graduated and gotten a job at a prestigious institute. They’d had a few general physics classes in common back then, but they hadn’t known each other for the longest time, not really, and never would have if it hadn’t been for, well. For Claire.

Claire… he had to admit, he hadn’t thought of her in a while.

If he were to be perfectly honest with himself, he’d filed all that away under ‘uni angst’ some time ago. The thing with Claire had been… well, Claire had liked to make friends in unlikely places. She’d bonded Dimitri to her, who was handsome and charming enough but focused on his work to the point of utter distraction. And for some reason she’d seen something worthwhile in Paul.

Deep down he’d always known that his infatuation was never going to lead anywhere. With a decade between himself and all that, he could admit to himself that had he ‘gotten’ Claire, he wouldn’t have known what to do with her, so unlikely had the concept truly been. It had never been an issue of ‘to have and to hold’. But Claire had been beautiful and brilliant and kind, a foreign thing to Paul who didn’t deal in kindness, kind even to him, an awkwardly shaped blotch of creation with nothing to offer who never fit smoothly anywhere, and for that he had revered her, simple as that. And Dimitri… Dimitri had probably seen in her a like mind.

Paul remembered That Fateful Summer in hazy, broken-up snatches. He’d been working on his thesis then. Getting his degree had been a uniquely fragile state of being, days and nights of desperate cramming interspersed with attacks of crippling doubt. Was this what he was going to do with his life? Was it worth it? Was he up for it? And so on. It had felt like sweating out a months-long fever. He’d been too busy to spend much time out with his few acquaintances. He’d seen Claire rarely, and therefore hadn’t noticed and/or decided to ignore how frequently she’d begun hanging around with her ‘new friend’ who was reading Archaeology, or how her ‘new friend’ was well on the way to becoming much more than a friend.

He also remembered crossing the quad from the dorms to the library and seeing them kiss and, well, simply unravelling like a ball of yarn. In hindsight, he reflected, it had been something he’d needed. Subconsciously he’d wanted any excuse to drop everything and take up villainy. To stop bothering with the endlessly stifling minutiae of academia, the drudgery of conferences and peer reviews and grant proposals and ethics boards and simply run off to invent whatever he wanted. A revenge quest against the guy who’d gotten Claire? Perfect. Plus, he’d gotten better hair out of it.

He hadn’t seen Claire again after that, but of course he’d known she’d been working with Dimitri on a time machine, and that had all gone wrong. Dimitri had disappeared then too. And now here he was again, having, it bore repeating, built an underground city for some unfathomable reason. And more, he was running around moonlighting as an evil Layton, being a mafia boss, and spinning a fiction about travelling to the future.

Time travel again. And now even Layton was here. All of them were congregating in one place again: Dimitri, Layton, Paul himself. Claire’s three musketeers. Somehow it all seemed to go together.

And there was one other thing.

He had never found out what exactly had gone wrong with Claire and Dimitri’s time machine. The explosion had received amazingly little news coverage. Claire had just been gone, and Dimitri… Dimitri, the only person who might have conceivably known something, seemed to have literally dropped off the face of the earth. Often, Paul had wondered if the accident had been Dimitri’s fault.

Going back to Dimitri wasn’t going to get him any answers. But maybe Layton knew more. Insufferably, he always seemed to.

So naturally Paul fashioned another disguise. He had a mask, an exact replica of Dean Delmona’s suit, and a fitting wig, unfortunately in white. He reached for the brown dye… and stopped.

No, he’d go with white hair, he decided. It would suit his purposes better…

* * *

“Dimitri?”

Dimitri was working in his lab, going through calculations for the umpteenth time. Here he was, having availed himself of the greatest minds in the field of polydimensional physics, working round the clock himself, and yet things were going nowhere fast. After the accident, he’d had to start from scratch. Most of his research had gone up with the first, the original lab, and what had been left Hawks had swiftly sent people to confiscate. Then it had turned out that Hawks had kept a sizeable number of secrets from him not just regarding his sponsors, but the very technology Dimitri had naively believed they’d been working on as equals. Dimitri really knew how to construct half a time machine, and had no idea how to counteract the error Hawks had made back then that had claimed so many lives.

But he had to undo what had gone wrong. He had to find a way back. To warn his past self, warn Claire, maybe even deal with Hawks right then. And if not that, he’d settle for stabilizing Claire’s existence in the now. Ideally, however, he would find a way to undo it all… he owed it to Claire to erase that trauma, give her the whole and happy life she should have had… as a labor of love.

“Dimitri,” Claire’s voice repeated.

He looked up. “Ah. I see you found your way in again.”

Of course Claire had followed him to the underground city. Of course Claire had found a way into his research facility, and figured out that the restaurant, not the pagoda, was the Family’s true hideout. In the intervening years, he had remembered the beauty and the tragedy of Claire, almost forgetting how whip-sharp she could be. Her mind was not an iota lesser than his own.

“Your hired goons know me by now,” she said and sat down on his desk. “I think they suspect I’m your squeeze.” Her humor was dry, missing its old warmth. But then some of it returned and she added, “You look exhausted. Are you getting rest?”

“The operation is soon to reach its critical stage,” Dimitri explained. “I can rest when it’s all over.”

“You mean once you’ve irrevocably altered the timeline and this version of you will blip out of existence?” Claire crossed her arms.

“Good riddance,” said Dimitri.

Claire sighed. “Will nothing I say make you stop?”

“No. We’ve come too far now. Too much is at stake.”

An uncomfortable silence settled over both of them.

Then Claire said, “I saw Hershel in the street today.”

“Yes, he made his way down at last.” Dimitri turned back to his paperwork.

“He recognized me. It was all I could do to duck into an alley. He has a child with him. Your thugs are endangering a _child_.”

Dimitri rubbed at his eyes as he turned a page. They stung, the result of too many hours awake. Maybe another cup of coffee was in order.

“I also saw a man with horns on his head who bears a striking resemblance to Paul,” Claire continued conversationally.

“That’s probably because Paul is here,” Dimitri told her, cross-checking some equations penned by one of his kidnapped scientists. They worked hard, you had to give that to them.

He was shocked from his work again when, to his surprise, Claire let out a guffaw. “You brought Paul here?” She laughed. “ _What?_ Next up you’ll tell me you dragged the rest of the Society along as well and we’re going to have a little university reunion. _Why?_ Is he helping with the time machine too?”

“Oh, no. He never went into polydimensional physics that I know of. I needed someone good with disguises for my plan.”

“Your plan.” Claire sobered again. “Dimitri, look at all this. Look at yourself. Don’t you think this has all gotten wildly out of hand? Abducting innocent people, lying about the future, running around as an evil Hershel? Hiring criminals to menace people in the street? For what? For me? I’ve never wanted any of this! The Dimitri I remember was a good man. He would have never let this go this far.”

 _The Dimitri you remember died in that explosion. With you._ “This is your life we’re talking about.”

“It’s just one life! It’s not worth all this.”

Dimitri gritted his teeth. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I don’t know what I’m saying? It’s _my_ life, Dimitri! I don’t want _this_ to be my legacy!”

“And it won’t be! Not once I’ve changed it all.”

“You’re obsessed.”

She looked extremely upset. “You mustn’t exert yourself like this,” Dimitri told her. “Not with your molecular structure as unstable as it is. Please, try to be calm.”

“I will have to exert myself until you stop.” With that, Claire got up and rushed from the room.

Dimitri shook his head. It hurt seeing her angry with him. But it would all be worth it shortly. Once he got this right…

He returned to his work, banishing Claire’s words from his mind.

* * *

Obviously, Layton unmasked Paul.

As soon as he had a moment away from his little group, he cornered him in an alley and tore his disguise down. Dean Delmona had been bald for years, he explained.

“No shit, Sherlock,” Paul told him.

“Did you _want_ to be found?” Layton asked. “I know it’s you, Don Paolo – I just cannot fathom how you are mixed up in all this.”

Paul selected the easiest answer: “I got paid to come here and do some impersonations.”

Layton, of course, was sharp. “Paid by whom? My… ‘evil self’, if such a person indeed exists? You assumed the role of Andrew too, didn’t you?”

“I sure did.”

“Then all the ‘undeniable proof’ we’ve been shown to make us believe we’re in the future… was it all you? Surely you’ve not been Future Luke too?”

Paul had to grin at that. “No. The boy’s name is Clive. Though what he has to do with any of this beats me.”

Layton crossed his arms. He looked thoughtful. “I might have a few ideas.”

Paul waited, but Layton seemed to have stopped there. “So? You’re going to share with the class?”

“I can only do so once I’m completely certain,” Layton said, making Paul groan. Layton always did that. “Suffice it to say there seems to be some connection to the unfortunate incident that occurred a week ago which led to the disappearance of our prime minister. And then there’s also the matter of an explosion ten years ago at the—”

“At the Polydimensional Research Institute. Yes, I got _there_ myself.” Paul waved a hand. “The so-called time machine here, the time machine there, you, me, Dimitri Allen, it can’t be a coincidence.”

“Yes, Dimitri Allen.” Layton nodded. “I’ve seen photographs of Dimitri Allen in the archives at Scotland Yard. He was younger then, but he is undoubtedly the same man who appeared at the demonstration a week ago as ‘Doctor Stahngun’. But what is _your_ interest in the explosion ten years ago?”

Ah. Here came the hard part. He would have to explain his backstory, wouldn’t he? And it had to happen here, in a dinky alley in Chinatown, rather than the appropriately dramatic backdrop Paul had envisioned. He resigned himself to his fate, but not before lighting a cigarette.

“The same as yours, of course,” he said and took a drag. “Claire.”

For the first time in their acquaintance as nemeses, Paul got to see Layton truly baffled. “Claire!” he said. He seemed surprised to hear that name from Don Paolo.

“Yes.” He breathed in deeply. Okay. Here goes nothing. “My real name is Paul. I was a friend of Claire’s when we studied together…”

One lengthy explanation later, it appeared that Layton was trying not to grin. “You were the fellow who jumped into the river!” He said, mirth dancing in those dot-like eyes. “I _do_ remember you!”

“Great.” Paul rolled his eyes. Whatever respect he’d had from Layton was evidently evaporating. Like river water in a sunbeam.

“I’m glad you got out of the river alright. I admit I felt a tad worried.”

“Forget about the river!” Paul said impatiently. “What are you and your gaggle of kids going to do next? Because clearly something is extremely fishy here and Dimitri isn’t giving me any information.”

Again, Layton assumed his thinking pose. “So it is indeed Dimitri masquerading as my future self. Well, I must stop him. He has abducted several scientists, likely even the prime minister. He is spreading terror in my name. We have been told the head of the Family resides in the towering pagoda. Do you know anything about it?”

Paul shrugged. “I’ve never been in there.”

“Hmm. Maybe you ought to go.”

“Huh?” What was that infuriating man going on about now?

“Let me explain. Clive… Clive has been leading Luke and myself by the nose ever since we arrived in this… other London. Clive was the one to tell me about the pagoda. Which brings me to the conclusion that he and Dimitri _want_ me to go there. I suggest that at this point it would be prudent to retain an ace up our sleeve. What if _you_ accompanied the group into the pagoda – disguised as me?”

On the face of it, it sounded ridiculous. “What, work together?” Paul asked.

“Temporarily,” Layton offered. “We seem to be seeking answers to similar questions, and there is really only one place we can get them.”

“Let’s say I choose to do this,” Paul said, “hypothetically. What are you doing in the meantime?”

“I will have a look around behind the scenes while the Family’s attention is on you. I’ll look for any hints as to the whereabouts of the time machine, or the prime minister, or any clue as to what is going on here. And if you find yourself in dire straits, I can utilize the element of surprise to come to your aid.”

“And you’ll leave your kids in the custody of some guy who hates you.”

Layton clicked his tongue. “Paul,” he said, and Paul already hated the vulnerability of having given this man his actual name, “I would never have extended this offer in the first place if I considered you willing or able to harm Luke and Flora.”

* * *

Getting Layton’s mannerisms down was easy enough. Be almost gratingly polite, make some vague allusions to things you noticed, talk about being a gentleman, touch the brim of the hat a lot. One of the less exciting disguises, if Paul were to be honest. At first, that was. But once they’d actually climbed all the stairs to Dimitri’s office, it got vastly more interesting, because he got to do a Layton Reveal. How fascinating to be on the unmasking side of this for once rather than the unmasked! Asking random people to solve puzzles, being debonair, pointing a dramatic finger… Layton did lead a neat life.

Dimitri’s evil-Layton-outfit wasn’t even that good. The cut of the jacket and top hat wouldn’t have fooled anyone who knew the real deal. Already, Paul was itching for the opportunity to unmask and show the little chit how a real master of disguise did it. But for now, he still had his role to play.

Dimitri, now found out, of course obligingly explained his evil plan. Apparently he’d needed Layton to enter the pagoda, just as the real Layton had guessed, and put on the glasses that recorded memories. But what use were Layton’s memories for?

“Your memories contain all the information I need to recreate that fateful day’s experiment,” Dimitri said.

“What day?” Paul-as-Layton asked, as if he couldn’t already guess.

Dimitri suddenly looked downcast when he said, “The day I lost everything that mattered to me.”

“I’d imagine you’d know quite a bit about loss yourself, Hershel,” he then added. “Think, man! I’m talking about Claire.”

Paul couldn’t quite suppress his genuine reaction. Eh. Layton would have reacted the same way. “Claire…”

Dimitri explained how he was going to use the data contained in Layton’s memories to triangulate an anchoring point for the two-way wormhole he was hoping to create in the fabric of space-time. Because Layton had been seeing Claire every day by that point. So too right before the accident. Paul wondered if _his_ memories, that Dimitri now had instead, were going to be any help. Probably not. He’d not seen Claire for weeks back then, so that was futile.

“What do you stand to gain?” he asked Dimitri.

“Everything,” Dimitri said. “You see, like you, Hershel, I loved Claire.”

This, Paul reflected, would probably be news to the real Layton. Not to him. They’d been a little jilted lovers’ club of two. At this point, he wanted to unmask just to spare them both the embarrassment of standing here saying all this. But his moment was not yet come. “So, you intend to travel back through time to save her?”

“Surely you wouldn’t stop me,” said Dimitri. “After all, haven’t you wished for this yourself?”

And, man.

Fuck.

Shit.

The real Layton would decline. Doing the right thing and all that. Paul was in no way wedded to any idea of doing the right thing. If Dimitri had come up to him with his whole truth, stupid fedora hat in hand, and requested his help with this, he might not have said no. They could have picked each other’s brains endlessly trying to reconstruct Dimitri’s time machine. Then again, the whole underground city, abducting scientists, kidnapping the prime minister… would that have been taking it too far for him? Even for just a chance, be it infinitesimally small, to see Claire’s smile again? He’d need a few hours to himself and a stiff drink to work through that one. He didn’t have either.

But Dimitri… Dimitri had always struck him as a decent man. A good one, even. Paul had been the token amoral team member. What was _Dimitri_ doing running an evil stronghold, enslaving scientists? Wasn’t this, right now, about saving him more than Claire? Claire had been ripped from them ten years ago. To be honest, Paul had moved on. Immersed himself in his machines and the revenge quest. Evidently, Dimitri hadn’t done the same.

In the end, he took refuge in staying in character. “Nothing can excuse the kidnapping of all those scientists. Not even this, Dimitri.” There. Solid Layton reasoning.

“You disappoint me,” Dimitri said. “I had hoped a rational man like yourself would understand that the ends justify the means.”

Oh, his fingers itched to remove the mask. _I do get that. Figure it out. See **me**. _

But on the other hand… this was what Dimitri considered rational, then? This convoluted scheme? Sacrificing this much to save one person? Who then still wouldn’t go out with him? Who’d likely be disgusted seeing the crimes committed for her benefit?

“I don’t see it that way.”

This of course concluded negotiations. Dimitri quickly made it clear that they were standing in his stronghold and he would simply overpower them if need be. He did have the whole place swarming with wannabe mafiosi. And then of course he’d taken the prime minister hostage too.

He boasted a bit – a villain’s due, although the idea of Dimitri Allen as a villain still sat strangely – and snapped his fingers, causing iron bars to spring up from the ground. The kids let out gasps of shock, and Paul noticed he suddenly had Flora clinging to his arm. Now how’d they get out of this one?

“I hate to disappoint you, but it seems you’ve failed to ensnare the genuine article.”

Ah. Of course, the real Layton had to make a dramatic, on-cue, last-second entrance. Ugh. Well, it was as good a moment to undisguise as any.

He desperately wanted to drop a zinger like, “Surprise, bitch” as he tore the mask off his face, but there were children here, so he didn’t. (Mostly he said “Foiled me again!” but he hadn’t actually been foiled this time.) Still, ah, the exhilaration of a successful unmasking. Everyone’s incredulous stares… beautiful. Although it stung a little bit that Flora immediately backed off.

Dimitri managed to escape and also whisk Bill Hawks away. As Layton and the kids began looking for their own escape route – Clive still playing it off like he was one of them – Paul’s eyes caught on a few papers on Dimitri’s desk. He scanned them briefly, waited until Clive’s back was turned, and stuffed them into the inner pocket of his coat.

They broke out of the towering pagoda, and then Paul had to explain his backstory again to Luke, a harrowing experience. He took his leave from Luke and Layton as quickly as he was able, not just because they all now knew his truth, but also because he was in no way keen on meeting Clive again. Let Layton deal with that one. Paul had things he should be doing.

* * *

Dimitri had made haste to cross the river and was now safely back in the industrial compound that housed his Central Research Lab. He had also remembered to instruct a man to retrieve the memory recorder, which was now sitting on his desk in front of him, but it was useless now, wasn’t it? He had built it to filter its wearer’s thought patterns for recollections of Claire, hoping to extract Layton’s memories of her on the day of the accident. But these were Paul’s memories, weren’t they?

Dimitri shook his head. Bested by Paul. Embarrassing. And worse, the whole plot was crumbling apart. Paul hadn’t had any contact with Claire the day of the accident, which meant Dimitri didn’t have the data that he needed to go back. He was beginning to sweat. Claire didn’t have much time left. If he failed now, the version of Claire that existed here would be lost forever.

He retrieved the data-storage device from within the visor, a little capsule not much bigger than a fingernail. Slotted into a small port on the side of the viewscreen here in his office, it would display the memories. It might not be much use, but Dimitri was desperate. Who knew what he would gain from a look into Paul’s mind? There were many things about Paul he didn’t know. Like why he’d chosen to betray him and work with Hershel now, for example.

The most recent memory logged was of the last time Paul had seen Claire. It was in the little park on campus that Dimitri still remembered fondly. How many summer afternoons he and his friends had sat here and studied together… Claire with her feet dangling in the water, playfully splashing him whenever he threatened to nod off in the warm sun… Paul too, his back against a tree, smoking one of his odious cigarettes, puffing like a tea kettle transfixed on engineering textbooks…

Dimitri sniffled. Ah, his eyes itched again.

He rubbed them with the back of his hand and focused back on the pictures of Claire confessing her love to Hershel. She kissed him, and Paul sprang out of hiding, yelled at Layton, and walked into the river. Yikes. So that had been when he’d decided to turn his back on his old life and become Don Paolo.

A-ma-zing.

The memory before that had taken place just days prior. They’d gone out to a bar to meet with a few other students, most of them also reading Physics or something related. This had been a bi-weekly loose gathering, nicknamed the Society of Scholars, but really it had only been a glorified study group of science nerds wanting to discuss term papers and geek out in their free time. As far as Dimitri knew, some of the alumni still met, and had formed something of a more serious circle of scientific minds. By now, they were a renowned think-tank of natural scientists, networked all over Britain. He wondered if he would be welcome any longer. He knew that Paul wasn’t, after news of his nefarious exploits had gotten around.

At this meeting, Claire had brought Hershel along, then still a ‘new friend’ of hers. Dimitri watched as she started a conversation with him, separate from their little circle, so that he as an archaeologist wouldn’t feel left out with all the physics talk. He watched his younger self sit next to Paul, both of them drinking too much, talking about their research and attempting to ignore the writing on the wall. Attempting to ignore the feeling of something beginning to end.

They’d both been loners in their first year at university. Then Claire had come. Sat next to Dimitri in the lecture hall, already carrying an extra cup of coffee, with just the amount of milk he liked. Peppered Paul with questions about a paper she’d needed help with until he relented and begun to tutor her. Of course, Claire had soon outgrown any need for tutoring, brilliant Claire. But their gathering had persisted. And then Claire had met Hershel.

On the screen, a few people were getting up from their table and drifting towards the dancefloor. Claire was approaching them. Ah yes, he remembered her, with her hand outstretched, saying…

_“Anyone up for a dance?”_

_Paul said, “I don’t dance,” and Dimitri thought, way to self-sabotage, but when he was asked to dance, he didn’t either. Hershel said he’d dance with Claire if she didn’t mind, it being the duty of a true gentleman, and it was obvious she didn’t mind. She beamed, grasped his arm and led him away._

_“Well, there goes that,” Dimitri said. Next to him, Paul grunted and seemed to attempt to crawl into his drink._

_“Don’t bloody start,” he said._

_They didn’t usually talk about their feelings for Claire, because that would have meant acknowledging that they were in competition. When they did talk without the buffer of Claire present, they stayed on safe topics, like homework and research and gossip about professors. But tonight, the world felt shifting, uneven, off-kilter._

_Compared to Paul, Dimitri had always been a lightweight. He didn’t drink much. But tonight he was flushed with drink and stupid. So he said, “What, not worried about the competition, old boy?”_

_Paul snorted. “Don’t fancy I was ever in the running.” He only started to pity himself when he’d had a bit to drink. “Maybe with some elaborate disguise on,” he added, and looked thoughtful for a moment._

_They watched the dancers, and downed their drinks._

_Then Dimitri said, “Do **you** at least want to come home with me?”_

_Through the haze of alcohol, they looked at each other, and it was clear that Dimitri didn’t mean ‘to study’ or even ‘to crash on my couch’._

_Paul shrugged. “Why the hell not.”_

It hadn’t been so bad, Dimitri remembered. They’d met like that a few more times. Their studies became pillow talk. Second-best was better than nothing at all. And then the accident had happened, and it all had disappeared. There had only been regret, and the drive to make it right, and the hunger for revenge on Hawks. But out of all the things he regretted, this had never been one.

He sat staring at the screen for a while longer as more pictures appeared, most featuring the three of them. Studying together, trawling the student bars, the one time they’d gone on a road trip in Claire’s ancient car. The one time Paul had created a remote-controlled mechanical bird for a class and ended up gifting it, of course, to Claire, and they’d chased it through the park like a frisbee, laughing like crazy until the Dean put a stop to them. Claire always their driving force, their encourager, their decision-maker. Claire had a knack for bringing out the best in anyone she met…

Dimitri was still looking at the screen when Clive entered and told him they had to go, that there were going to be intruders in the lab. As he got up to follow Clive, he felt very heavy, and very tired.

* * *

Paul took his flying machine across the river to the huge industrial compound that was as likely as anything to house Dimitri’s various labs. Not really a ‘secret’ facility as such. The original London didn’t have this place, so it had to be here for a reason.

It seemed for once he’d managed to arrive earlier than Layton and his posse, so he obligingly left a note for them with instructions on how to open a side door. Pretty quickly, he happened upon a manhole with a ladder that led down into the facility. So. Whatever he was about to find down there had better be good. What he’d do if there was a functional time machine… well, he’d dwell on that when and if it occurred.

Just then he heard footsteps approaching and hid in a convenient shadow, but it was only Layton and his kids.

“Oh, hi there, Don Paolo,” Luke said upon seeing him, making him roll his eyes.

“I’m lurking in the shadows, kid. At least pretend to be startled!” Really, some people had no sense for presentation or for how things should be.

They bickered about how to proceed for a bit. Paul wanted fervently to go back to working alone. That had been nice. No more righteous indignation from Luke, no more Layton calling him by his real name, not even Flora genteelly expressing her _disappointment_ with his _attitude,_ and certainly no one calling his flying machine ‘goofy’. Still, as they climbed down the ladder and began examining the place, Paul tried to keep an eye on Flora. From what he’d gleaned of her, she didn’t seem to go along on these outings often. Someone had to look after her.

They almost managed to enter the central lab too, before being cornered by what looked like dozens of Dimitri’s hired thugs. From one moment to the other, they were staring down literal rifle barrels.

Paul stepped in front of Flora. Whatever happened next, he was not going to witness her come to harm today. Maybe he still had a smoke bomb or something in one of his pockets…?

A side door swung open, and a young woman emerged. “Everyone in here, quick!” she yelled. They weren’t going to be told twice.

As soon as they were in the clear, and could chance a moment to look at their rescuer, Paul was struck again and so, he knew, was Layton. Because this was Claire. She didn’t have her glasses and her hair was different, but it was Claire.

She introduced herself as Celeste, Claire’s somehow identical younger sister. Paul remembered the papers he had stolen from Dimitri’s desk and thought, _yeah, sure_. But he played along with her. It wasn’t even the weirdest thing he’d done all day.

There was no time to talk in more detail. They were still within the compound, with the guards on their trail, needing to make their escape. Paul offered to get ‘Celeste’ to safety, and Layton actually okayed it.

 _I can’t believe I’m getting to do this_ , he thought.

He led her undetected to where he’d left the flying machine. “What _is_ that thing?” ‘Celeste’ asked.

“Flying apparatus,” Paul explained. “For flying.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You built this yourself?”

“Sure. And others like it.”

Briefly, she made up her mind. Then she nodded. “Okay. I trust you.”

Well, that was it. Paul could die happy now.

‘Celeste’ was already climbing into the cockpit. “You start it by using these controls? Oh, that’s easy. Come on, or I’m taking off without you!” She laughed. He’d never thought he’d hear that sound again.

Just five minutes later they were airborne, ‘Celeste’ gazing down at the river below.

“The view is beautiful from up here,” she said.

“If you go up far enough, you can see the walls of the cavern,” Paul told her. “It’s even better under the actual sky.”

“I would love to see that,” ‘Celeste’ sighed, a wistful smile on her face. Too bad it wouldn’t come to that.

For a few moments they were silent.

“So, Claire,” Paul then said.

“I-I don’t know if you heard me earlier, I’m Celeste… Claire’s younger sis—”

“No.”

A split-second of hesitation, a reorientation – then she groaned. “How? Bloody _how_ , Paul? Not even Hershel noticed!”

Paul took one hand off the flying machine’s controls to reach over and give Claire a consoling shoulder pat. “Layton has a lot on his mind right now. He also didn’t go through the papers on Dimitri’s desk while we were escaping from the pagoda. I did. Dimitri’s not just building a new time machine, is he? He’s also searching for ways to stabilize the molecular structure of a person who is out of their time. And then you show up in his lab. It’s got to be you.”

“Well, you’re right.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “I’m sorry you had to find out this way. If Dimitri had just reached out for help like a normal person and explained himself to you and Hershel… but no, he had to do all this instead.” She gestured at the city below.

Paul nodded. “How long do you have left?”

Claire looked shocked for a second. Then she huffed. “You’re every bit as… frank as I remember you being.” She looked down again at the river below. “It’s not long now. Days. Maybe just this one day if I go on exerting myself. And I have to. It’s beginning to look like my last breaths will be spent stopping Dimitri.”

She said this soberly, with just a hint of regret, the way she used to talk about a failed experiment in the lab. How brave she was. What a scientist. Paul remembered why he’d loved her.

He cleared his throat. “Is there any pain?”

“No,” Claire said. “Fortunately. But I do feel… a pull, and it’s getting stronger. My very atoms want to return to where they belong. It should be frightening, but… the prospect of going away before I can set things right here frightens me more.”

He wanted to hug her so badly. But he was steering, and besides, he’d squandered that privilege a long time ago. She knew now about the ugly, squirming feelings beneath their former friendship, the feelings of an ugly, squirming man. Why would she want his hands on her?

“Paul,” she spoke again abruptly, “Now that we’re meeting here again, I want to say… I’m sorry for how things went. I… enjoyed your company, but… it just turned out to be Hershel. One can’t choose who—”

“Don’t mention it. Seriously. Don’t apologize.”

Claire nodded, like she was checking something off on an invisible clipboard, like Paul had passed a test. He idly wondered what grades Dimitri had gotten in being let down gently.

Then Claire looked up at him again. Her hands clenched into fists. “You do owe me an apology, Paul.”

He raised an eyebrow. “For what? Ruining your date with my mental breakdown?”

“For disappearing after that,” she said. “I was worried about you. I tried to call you. I… I couldn’t believe the last time I saw you would be you jumping into the Thames.”

He’d hear about the river until his dying day, huh? He contemplated jumping into the Thames again right now.

“It was for the best. Not the Thames, but. Going away.”

“I could slap you,” Claire said. “Do you know how rotten it felt to know our friendship was that conditional to you? To know that I could only gain a boyfriend by losing a friend? That the moment I rejected you, you’d go off and… and turn into a supervillain? It was horribly egotistical of you, _Don Paolo.”_

Not even little Luke had ever said his name with such venom.

“Let me land this thing before you go slapping anyone,” Paul said. “Where do you want to go?”

They set down a little way off from the Thames Arms, where the flying apparatus would not be found by passersby. He got the satisfaction of helping Claire climb out of the cockpit, like an old-timey hero handing the lady out of her carriage. She slapped him. It stung. He deserved it. It was as prosaic as that.

As they were walking to the restaurant, Paul asked, “What happens next? I assume Layton turns up and catches Dimitri? He brought pigs down here. Is Dimitri going to jail?”

Claire chewed on her lower lip. “I’m not sure. It worries me. And there’s something else we’re still missing.”

Paul remembered Dimitri’s compound. The warheads, the tank and whatnot. Nothing in Dimitri so far had hinted at him handling or being willing to use that much weaponry. It was a mystery, and indeed a worrying one.

They had reached the restaurant by now. Paul opened the door for Claire and felt nice about himself for 1.7 seconds. Claire looked amused.

The Thames Arms was deserted, nothing but empty tables and the bartender pretending to polish a glass. “Should we order?” Claire asked sardonically.

“You sit,” Paul said. “Take it easy. I’ll get you a tea or something.”

The bartender was obviously Dimitri in disguise. Well, if he was going to dress up as a bartender, he could well bartend. Paul snapped his fingers at him.

“Here, Misha, get us a drink. This place looks fancy, I’ll have your cheapest Scotch.”

Dimitri didn’t unmask himself, he just sighed. “I’ve not been called that name in a while.” He sounded like a man at the end of his rope. “Why are you here? Whose side are you on this time?”

“You know, it fluctuates today.”

“What are you doing this for?” Almost mechanically, Dimitri started to pour a drink.

“To find out what you were keeping from me.” Paul nodded his head in Claire’s direction. “By the by, looks like the study group is back together.”

In a less messed-up world, they would all have hugged now. Dimitri pinched the bridge of his nose. “You told him?”

“He found out by himself,” Claire replied. “What was I supposed to do, keep lying?”

“You,” Dimitri said to Paul, “just always have to throw a wrench in people’s best-laid plans, huh?”

Paul leaned against the bar and raised his glass. “It’s what Don Paolo does.”

“Boys,” Claire said and, as they always had, they turned to her and listened. “This is all very charming, but we don’t have time for it. I’m sure once this is over, you two can exchange all kinds of banter. Maybe in jail?”

“ _I’m_ not getting arrested. I’m a goodie this time.”

“And you can’t possibly believe _I’d_ give up that easily. Listen, we can still start over. If we all put our heads together—”

“No,” Claire said. “I’m not talking about myself. There is something going on here that not even you know about, Dimitri. Something horrible. And I think—”

Claire never got to say what she thought. The door swung open again and Layton and his group entered. They all took seats and placed orders, and Dimitri, still in his disguise, complete with a horrid affected Cockney accent, actually began serving them.

“Do _not_ expose me,” he whispered to Paul as he filled up teacups.

“Hah! Okay.” This wasn’t Paul’s first rodeo. He knew, now that Layton was here, the disguise would come off within the next ten minutes. He sipped the eight-pound-Scotch and awaited the show.

Of course Layton had to make a huge dramatic reveal out of the fact that the city was fake. Apart from the two cops and the children, it surprised no one. But then Layton and Inspector Chelmey got to the matter of Dimitri, and why he’d done what he’d done.

“Why would he go through such pains to make us believe we’re in the future?” Chelmey asked.

“It doesn’t make sense,” Layton was saying. “Unless convincing people of this is the key to achieving his ultimate goal.”

“What kind of goal requires a set-up like that?” Luke asked – a very good question.

Layton then explained that the whole thing had come about to facilitate the construction of an actual working time machine. The scientists he’d trapped down here had had to believe that doing just this was the only way out for them, so they wouldn’t try to trick Dimitri or do shoddy work. But really? Was that all? Paul remembered what Claire had said earlier – that if Dimitri ‘had just reached out for help like a normal person’ all this mess could have been averted. Hell, maybe she was right. She usually was. Had Dimitri even tried to just… approach the scientists and attempt to convince them to work with him? They were time machine experts anyway, weren’t they? It stood to reason that they _wanted_ a time machine.

Then, obviously, Layton unmasked Dimitri. Dimitri indulged in a bizarre attempt to stall for time by claiming he’d mined the restaurant, and then exposing that he’d lied about it. Then he finally obliged to spit out the whole story.

“It all started about ten years ago,” he said. “Bill Hawks and I were friends and colleagues. We worked in the same lab, researching time travel. Our research meant everything to us. We poured our hearts and souls into uncovering the secrets of space and time.”

Yes, Paul remembered that year. It had been shortly after Dimitri had graduated. He’d been incandescently happy to have gotten a job with Hawks, whom he had come to see as a mentor. For months, “the secrets of space and time” were all the study group heard about. His enthusiasm had transferred over to Claire, and he’d gotten her working on the project too. Soon her contributions had become invaluable, because of course Claire was a genius.

“After months of progress, we had built ourselves a prototype time machine,” Dimitri continued. “It was finally time to test our work with a human subject.”

Well, that didn’t sound foreboding at all.

“Bill thought we should use Claire as the first test subject. She was our lab assistant. I, of course, vehemently opposed this idea… I loved her too, you see. And though she didn’t return my feelings, I didn’t want to risk her getting hurt in the experiment.”

Layton made an acknowledging hum. How did he feel about Claire being discussed in that manner? And Dimitri, for his part? Had he forgotten that Claire was in the room? Paul glanced over at her and saw her shiver.

“Around this time, I noticed a flaw in the design of our machine,” Dimitri went on. “I begged Bill to postpone the experiment, but he wouldn’t hear of it. Sometime after the accident, I made a startling discovery. Unbeknownst to me, Bill had made a deal to sell the technology behind the machine’s power source. Apparently, a large corporation had offered him an impressive sum. Bill knew the machine wasn’t ready for a human subject, but he needed to demonstrate its viability.”

And well, at least the power source had indeed been viable as hell. There’d been quite a big boom. As a time machine it was useless, but as a controlled explosive?

“We all know the tragic results of his decision,” Dimitri said. “By the time I’d realized Bill planned to go ahead with the experiment, it was too late to stop him.”

“Because of Bill’s greed, Claire was lost to me forever,” he concluded. _Yeah, you and everyone else,_ Paul thought, maybe a bit unkindly.

Back then, he’d been planning to leave London already, committed to finding out just what it meant to be Don Paolo. He’d read about the explosion in the paper, and he’d called Dimitri. It had taken an eternity, he still remembered, for Dimitri to answer his phone.

> _“Dimitri?”_
> 
> _“Oh, it’s you,” Dimitri said, his voice leaden._
> 
> _“They say something at your institute exploded. Are you alright? It’s not something to do with your project, is it?”_
> 
> _“It’s gone… it’s all gone…” There was a sob._
> 
> _“What happened? Are you hurt? What about Claire?”_
> 
> _Dimitri let out another sob. “C-Claire…”_
> 
> _One lab assistant deceased, said the newspaper._
> 
> _“Dimitri. What about Claire?!”_

“Life is full of cruel twists,” Dimitri said.

> _“Oh, god… Claire, Claire is gone, I-I couldn’t… can’t…”_
> 
> _“What? What?”_
> 
> _“I can’t… I need to go. Don’t try to find me.”_
> 
> _“Dimitri!”_

“In a blink of an eye, I lost my life’s work and the love of my life.”

> _And then there was only a click as Dimitri hung up._
> 
> _“Dimitri!”_

“To say I was a broken man would be an understatement.” Dimitri put a hand on his chest, and a spark of feeling, something other than that great tiredness, seemed to ignite in him. “Bill on the other hand made a full recovery from his injuries. He also completed the deal with the corporation, pocketing more money than most people see in a lifetime. He used his newfound fortune to climb the political ladder to the very top. He killed Claire and was rewarded with the most powerful seat in government. If that’s not a cruel joke, I don’t know what it is.”

Apparently he still wasn’t done. “I can’t pretend I wasn’t bitter, and it was this bitterness that sent me back to my research. I thought that if I could travel to the past, I could rob Bill of all that he’d won.”

Ah, revenge. As solid a motive as any.

“Though of course there was another reason why I wanted to go back in time. To save Claire from her fate. Surely you understand, Hershel?”

How surprised Dimitri must have been when Claire had turned back up ten years later through no effort of his own. Well, at least now it was clear that Claire’s death hadn’t been Dimitri’s fault.

Layton huffed. It was evidently a lot for him.

“Claire is no longer with us,” he finally concluded. “And there’s nothing anyone can do to turn back time.”

“Do you really believe that?” Dimitri asked. Surely now he’d tell the whole truth? That Claire was right there?

“I have just one more question for you,” Layton said. “Someone’s been using you as a pawn. Are you aware of this?”

And then he exposed Clive too, for good measure. It should have felt like a postscript to Dimitri’s reveal. After all, what could that brat possibly have accomplished? And then all hell broke loose.

* * *

The lightly modified car having taken off, there was nothing to do for the remainders of the group but to gawp at that gigantic mobile fortress wreaking devastating destruction and hope for things to turn out for the best.

All hangers-on had made for higher ground, but it seemed only marginally safer. Dimitri was being restrained by an ankle cuff by the two cops, but it seemed precarious enough. He could be busted out at a later date. Right now, he wasn’t terribly far up on the list of Paul’s priorities.

“I just can’t understand it,” Claire said, shaking her head. “Why would Clive kidnap Hershel’s little girl? As though he’s not doing terribly enough? Is he actually goading Hershel into coming after him?”

“No, no.” Paul shook his head. “You have to think about it like a villain thinks. If you’re planning to go on a rampage and destroy everything, and it’s up to you to save one person or thing from the wreckage, one single thing that you want to endure in your new better world… just one person who’s done nothing wrong… well, it’s gotta be Flora, right?”

Claire elbowed him. “Do I detect a soft spot there?”

Paul harrumphed. Of course, even with the city on fire, she had to tease him. He didn’t say out loud that he’d been thinking about how dirty he’d done Flora in the past. He’d almost destroyed her home with her in it. He’d grabbed her and locked her in a barn. Now that he’d spent over five minutes in Flora’s company, she really just… well, she was just nothing but kind and sweet and trusting, huh? He’d never cared for kids. Never wanted any underfoot. But Flora could just tug at anyone’s heartstrings. Even Clive’s, apparently. Giving Layton the means to rescue her was the least Paul could’ve done. He’d never had use for regret, or the concept of his actions having consequences, or the notion of making anything up to anyone. But Flora hadn’t deserved anything anyone had thrown at her.

Dimitri, meanwhile, just nodded. “Ah, he’s trying to keep her safe.” He turned to Claire. “I would have done the same for you.”

Claire just huffed. Then she said, “The fortress is moving. It’ll break through the cavern! You have to get me up there too.”

Paul realized she was addressing him, not Dimitri. “What?”

“I want to use your flying machine like before. Please. If there is a way to stop Clive, I have to do my part.”

Paul looked at Dimitri. Who were they to tell Claire no? But Dimitri shook his head despondently. “You can’t. You have to preserve your strength…”

“For what? To live to see the city destroyed? To see all my loved ones die? Hershel is up there! And he’s brilliant, but he can’t possibly know how to disable a machine of this magnitude. But me, I’ve been spying on you and Clive for months! I know enough about the inner workings of that thing to be of help!” She put her hands on her hips. She’d never seemed this determined. “Listen, Clive was driven to this by our experiment. If I had just refused to go along with Bill on that, he would have never lost his family. You’re not the only one with wrongs to right! How can you even think of stopping me now?”

Dimitri raised his hands in a feeble gesture of placation. “None of it was your fault. Don’t ever think that!”

“That hardly matters now,” Claire said. “All that matters is that I can help Hershel, and I can prevent Clive from destroying countless lives, so I have to. I don’t expect the pair of you to understand moral obligation, but it is what it is.”

It was a low blow. But it hit.

“And… I know you two won’t want to hear this… but I need to be with Hershel. At… at the close.”

Paul took a deep breath. “Alright. I’ll steer remotely from down here. I can get you up there, but after that, you’re on your own.”

Claire looked relieved. “Thank you.”

“You can’t let her do this!” Dimitri argued.

“Since when do I _let_ her do things? This is _Claire_.”

And that was just it, wasn’t it? Claire called the shots. She always had.

Dimitri lowered his head. There were tears in his eyes. One of the bobbies, Chelmey’s little assistant, gave him a handkerchief.

“You really have to go?” Dimitri said. He was probably just now allowing himself to face the fact that he really wouldn’t be able to save her.

Claire nodded. “Yes.” For a moment, her steely resolve seemed to recede, the courageous heroine melting away, leaving only… Claire, their friend from uni.

“Dimitri,” she said. “Even… if we see each other again somehow before the end, there likely won’t be time to say this. You have to promise me something.”

“Anything,” Dimitri said.

Claire touched his cheek. “Promise me you’ll live after this, and you won’t tamper with linear time anymore. Start looking forward instead of back. Find something new to do with all that brilliance in you. Don’t let yourself believe that all that’s happened here has turned you bad to the core. You have so much to offer to the world still. You can be a scientist again and leave all this behind. I believe in that with my whole heart.”

Dimitri sobbed.

“Promise me,” Claire repeated.

He nodded.

Paul had taken two steps back during their exchange, but now Claire turned towards him. To his utter shock, she reached out and put her hands on his shoulders. He flinched. No one had touched him in a decade.

“Paul…” She paused, and suddenly smiled. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t even have any parting advice for you. We all knew you’d do something with your life that would utterly surprise us, and look at you. I don’t know that ‘proud’ should be the word to express my feelings over my friend turning to a life of crime, but… I can see you know who you are now. So just… be. Be Don Paolo, if you must. Be to the utmost of your ability. But know that I believe there’s still… potentially so much more you could be.”

She took both their hands. Paul was again surprised when he felt Dimitri’s fingers, cold and clammy, brush against his free hand. So he reached back out for them and squeezed.

So they stood for a second. They would never all be together again.

“And I forgive you,” Claire said. “Both of you.”

Then she climbed into the cockpit of the flying machine. She waved one last time as she took off, and Dimitri stared upwards in mute shock, but Paul strangely felt himself smile. There she went, the strongest person he had ever known, brave to the last.

He looked after her until she vanished over the horizon.

* * *

He watched Layton do the daring rescue from somewhere high up and safe. Without his machine, he’d had to resort to letting himself get evacuated with everyone else, and even if Chelmey had shot him some glares, he was way too busy to arrest him right now.

In the streets, evacuees from the underground city were milling about, mingling with the evacuees from the _aboveground_ city. Clive’s fortress had destroyed countless homes tonight. The casualties didn’t even bear thinking about. For now, there was simply no way to count. The whole of Scotland Yard seemed to be on the street, so busy trying to get control of the crowds of confused, frightened people that not a single policeman looked twice at Paul.

He managed to find Dimitri, who had slipped from Chelmey’s grasp in the confusion. Everyone else had dispersed except, sitting on a bench near the parked Laytonmobile, there was Flora, patiently waiting for Layton and his sidekick to come back for her.

Well, she couldn’t just be left alone there.

They exchanged looks, shrugged and approached her.

“Oh, hello, Don Paolo,” she said when she saw them. “Hello, Doctor Allen.”

“Good evening… Flora, was it?” said Dimitri.

“What’s with you sitting here all alone?” Paul demanded.

“The Professor said he and Luke would be back soon to take me home.” Flora was dangling her legs, still smiling, her hands folded demurely in her lap. “They go off without me all the time. Don’t worry, they’ve not even been that long. They’ve left me on my own for far longer periods of time before.”

“Weren’t you literally just kidnapped?” Dimitri asked.

“Oh, yes. But I’m alright now.”

“You said Hershel leaves you by yourself all the time?”

“Well, yes. I won’t pretend that doesn’t make me sad sometimes.” Flora fidgeted with the sleeve of her dress. Then she looked up, smiling again. “But the Professor always comes back in the end, so I’m never sad for long.”

The two adults looked at each other again, equally out of their depth. They were scientists and villains, not childcare experts.

“Well, you can’t just sit here by yourself all night,” Paul decided. “Especially not in the middle of town like this, where any old creep could come up to you.”

“Is that not what’s happening right now?” Flora asked.

“Ouch,” Paul said.

“We can go elsewhere, if you object to the company,” Dimitri suggested.

“Oh, no, please,” Flora said, patting the bench next to her. “It _is_ a bit lonely here all by myself. Please, do sit with me if you’d like to.”

They sat to both sides of Flora, and then there was an awkward moment in which none of them knew what to say.

“I’m actually glad I ran into you,” Flora then spoke up. “I wanted to thank you for the flying Laytonmobile. We might have all gotten terribly hurt up on the mobile fortress if not for that.”

“Hrm,” Paul said, because he wasn’t usually thanked for things. “Don’t mention it.”

“Why do you always build machines that fly?” Flora asked curiously. “You had one back in St. Mystere.”

Ah yes, the time he’d almost brought a wrecking ball down on this very girl. He sure had to get his life together. “They’re just nifty, you know? To get into places. Ahem, like St. Mystere. While Layton was busy solving puzzles to get anywhere, I just flew in. Much simpler.”

Flora shook her head with a frown. “Oh, but solving people’s puzzles was the whole point! By helping the citizens, you proved to them that you were worthy of the Golden Apple – me, that is.”

Was that so? If he’d lowered himself to playing by the rules back then, Flora could have been _his_ daughter?

He looked down at her and noticed that she was beginning to shiver in the cool night air. Dimitri had apparently noticed the same. He took off his scarf, and Paul his coat, and both were draped across Flora’s shoulders.

“Oh!” She giggled. “Why thank you, I’m already much warmer. Maybe the pair of you can be true gentlemen as well on occasion.”

Paul crossed his arms. “Maybe Dimitri. I’m a lost cause.”

Dimitri reached over Flora’s head to rib him. “You sure are.”

“Hey!”

“Why don’t you tell her the story of how you built your first flying object? Back in uni? Hmm?”

Well. It would be as good as anything to keep Flora entertained.

“…and then of course it exploded. And that’s the story of why I don’t have eyebrows anymore,” Paul concluded ten minutes later.

“Oh no!” Flora laughed. “Do your inventions explode often?”

“It’s an occupational hazard in the hard sciences,” Dimitri said, a wryness in his tone.

“Do you have any funny explosion stories, Dr. Allen?” Flora asked – and caught herself a second too late. “Oh dear, I didn’t mean… I’m sorry, I must be getting a bit tired.”

And indeed, a short while later, Paul suddenly felt her droop against his side, looked down again and found her fast asleep. He tugged his coat into place so that it functioned as more of a blanket.

Dimitri gave him a pale smile. “Cute,” he said in a low voice. “You must tell me about that St. Mystere of hers someday.”

“Layton spins a better story out of it.” Silence settled in again.

Then Dimitri said, “Things seem to be calming down.”

Paul looked around and nodded.

“The police might get around to us soon.”

“I’m not getting arrested tonight.” Paul shook his head. “By the time Chelmey gets here, I plan to be long gone.”

The “What about you?” went unspoken.

“Will you visit me in jail?” Dimitri asked – well, that settled that.

“No,” Paul said. “Nothing personal, I don’t visit jails. They might get it into their heads to keep me there.”

“You haven’t done anything wrong today.”

“I did many things wrong on other days.”

Dimitri looked down at his hands, twiddling his thumbs a bit in his lap. “I’m sorry for ditching you back then,” he at last said quietly. “I simply couldn’t think beyond my grief and rage. All that occupied my mind was my revenge. We… did never make each other any promises.”

Paul nodded. It was as good as he’d get. More than he’d expected, really. “Come with me,” he suggested. “You don’t have to get arrested. I have a cozy lair. I could use someone to hold the welding torch sometimes. And... second-best is better than nothing.”

“Oh?” Dimitri grinned. “Room and board and as many welding masks as I require? A life of villainy at your side? No, Paul. I have to atone for my crimes.”

Paul snorted. “Atone for your crimes?” He would have spit, but it felt wrong to do near Flora. “Bullshit. You’re not going to go to prison because you believe in the rule of law. Otherwise you would have taken Hawks to court instead of _kidnapping him._ This is about you self-flagellating because you can’t deal with your guilt, and I’m not at home for that.”

“At least I feel guilt,” Dimitri said. “We can’t all be amoral like you.”

“I have a moral compass!”

“It’s a fucking roulette wheel, Paul!”

“Shh,” Paul said, pointing at Flora.

“This isn’t just about guilt,” Dimitri said. “This is about what Claire said. She told me to start anew. I have to at least try.”

Using Claire as a trump card was playing dirty, but it won him the debate for now. “Fine, but if you change your mind and want to get busted out, you have my number.”

Just then, Layton and Luke appeared from an alleyway. Layton was not wearing his hat, instead carrying it under his arm. For all the wild speculation of what was under the hat, this brown tuft of hair was disappointingly mundane.

“Oh,” he said as he spotted them all on the bench. He looked like a man emerging, by great strength of will, from a deep, dark place. “Well. Thank you two for watching Flora, I suppose.”

For a second, all three of them locked eyes. “She’s gone, then,” Paul said.

Layton swallowed heavily. For a moment, it didn’t seem as though he could answer.

“Yes,” he then said.

Hearing his voice woke Flora, who rose to her feet. “There you two are.” She made to shrug off Paul’s coat, but he waved it away.

“By all means keep it. Oh, and if you ever get bored with these losers… here.”

He handed her a small card, which she turned over and scrutinized. “Oh. I can’t read what it says here… oh, is it a puzzle?”

“If you will.”

She smiled. “How nice! The message is concealed, just like you always are!” And then, to Paul’s complete shock, she threw her arms around him in a hug. “Thank you, Uncle Paul!”

“Uncle?! Eh… I guess?” He awkwardly ruffled her hair. As quickly as she’d come, she stepped away to stand at Layton’s side.

“Well, Layton, it’s sure been some whatever,” Paul said. “Now, if you’d excuse us. I have to see if I can salvage my flying machine for the trip home, and Dimitri apparently has to face justice.”

He gave Dimitri a nod.

“I’ll write to you from prison,” Dimitri said.

* * *

It grew quiet again around Paul’s home. He went on tinkering in his workshop, replaced his trenchcoat, and decided not to dwell on any of it. At some point, the next nefarious scheme would come along, and all would be as it had always been.

One morning he opened the newspaper to the headline “National Hero Bill Hawks Takes Charge After London Crisis – Set to Win Landslide Reelection” and decided that no, actually, something had to happen. He sent off a message, and flew himself back to London.

There was still a gigantic chasm where Clive’s mobile fortress had breached the surface. It would be a while until the powers that be found a way to cover that one up. Under the cover of night, Paul could easily pilot his flying machine back down there, taking stock of the destruction as he did so.

The fortress had blown itself apart mid-fall, and pieces of wreckage had fallen all over the fake city, decimating wide swathes of buildings. The whole area around the Thames Arms, where he had said his last goodbyes to Claire, was reduced to rubble. The towering pagoda was a ruin. By some miracle, however, the industrial complex that had housed Dimitri’s laboratory had gone largely unscathed, and this was where Paul chose to land. No one obstructed him this time as he wandered into the central lab. No one was here anymore. The abducted scientists had finally gone home, the thugs had most likely found someone else to hench for.

Eventually he found what seemed to be Dimitri’s private office, just a door down from the central lab. There he sat, poked through a folder of Dimitri’s research (simply for scientific curiosity), lit a cigarette and waited.

“I reckoned of all places you’d be here,” said a voice from the doorway.

Paul looked up. “And I knew you wouldn’t stay in jail like a chump.”

“Not after I got your note,” Dimitri said.

“So you agree something has to be done.”

Dimitri sighed. “Look, I… I tried to move on and keep revenge out of my mind. I’m not here for revenge. I’m here because it’s _wrong_ that Hawks should get to go on after all that’s happened. It was right for myself and Clive to be punished according to what we did. But that punishment should be meted out equally to everyone who did wrong. Besides, we cannot leave this man in power, not when he’s shown himself to be utterly ruthless in abusing it. Who knows what he will go on to do?”

“Okay,” Paul said. He didn’t really care why Dimitri had come so long as he was here. But he recognized that Dimitri had to say these things, out loud, for his own benefit.

“I also thought about… what we discussed,” Dimitri went on. “And I realized that, if I served my sentence and attempted to return again to polite society… I don’t know how I could be a simple research scientist again after all I’ve been down here. All I ever studied, and learned and worked on is obsolete. Polydimensional physics is basically dead. Where do I even start anew? And I suppose… I could start here, with this. I can accept that morally… I chose this. I’m down here with the likes of you now.”

Paul grinned. “It’s not so bad. Take a walk on the wild side.” Really, it was alright being a disgraced scientist. They had their own conferences for people who weren’t let into the normal ones anymore. He’d have to introduce Dimitri at the next annual. “But I’m thinking, this doesn’t even have to be a villain thing.”

Dimitri raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“Listen, we have all this information about Hawks now. We can write down everything we know, everything we’ve learned down here. We can take those memory glasses of yours – they’re still around here somewhere, right? – and record your memories of the accident. Irrefutable proof. We can be each other’s deadman switches – if anything happens to one of us, the other leaks all. And we could blackmail him – I wouldn’t mind the extra cash, the man has more money than god…”

“No,” Dimitri said.

“…but I thought we could actually go legitimate with this for once. Your boy Clive, wasn’t he a journalist? Maybe we could pay him a visit, see what connections he still has.”

“Clive is not _my boy_ ,” Dimitri claimed. “And besides, aren’t you forgetting a crucial detail? We cannot use the legitimate channels to expose the prime minister. We’re criminals, Paul. Who would believe us? Who would even hear us out?”

“Granted,” Paul said with a wave of his hand. “But don’t worry your pretty head, I thought of that too. What we need…”

Ugh. Here came the hard part. It went against everything Paul had tried to do for the past ten years. But when he looked back on them… he saw himself trying to crush a child under a ferris wheel and believing himself justified. He saw Flora’s terrified little face as he took a wrecking ball to her home. He saw Claire, telling him that she believed he could be more than that.

“What we need is some complete upright citizen whom people will believe. Someone we know who’s just as invested in doing right by Claire’s memory as we are.”

Paul was rewarded with Dimitri’s eyes going almost comically wide. “You don’t mean…?”

“Don’t make me fucking say it.”

Suddenly, Dimitri laughed. It was not an evil laugh. It was an expression of genuine mirth. “Ah, fantastic,” he said, wiping a single tear from his eye. “Well, I suppose asking Hershel couldn’t hurt.”

**Author's Note:**

> And then Layton teams up with them and they overthrow the government. The end.


End file.
